Bloody Days
Bloody Days poem stories
  •   1 comment

mipoet Insomniac
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
The picture is from the evacuee camp we stayed in while our town was threatened by wildfire. It's when I really started cutting bad.

Bloody Days

The forest is burnt.

But it is regrowing.

The fire is becoming memory.

But still, too close.

I smell smoke.

Or see it.

Pulse bumps up.

Those were the bloody days.

When the fire raged.

And I really started cutting.

Deep. And often

I don't remember,

the actual start of it.

But I remember doing it.


Then the fire stopped.

But the cutting didn't.

Nervous breakdown.

I told my boss.

I needed help.

She put me on leave.

I got therapy.

And meds.

Lots of both.

It's been rocky.

With setbacks.

And relapses.

But three months now,

without a scratch.

Here's to progress.

Here's to tomorrow.

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